


A Djinn’s Dream

by whichstiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel, Bunker, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Near Future, POV Dean Winchester, Romance, Romantic Friendship, Supernatural season 17
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-03
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-07-12 00:06:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7076269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whichstiel/pseuds/whichstiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bad hunting trip gives Dean reason to reflect on his relationship with Castiel. Set around season 17, the bunker has become a bustling hunter Hogwarts. Will Dean find the space - and words - to tell Cas how he feels?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Djinn’s Dream

Dean grabbed a beer from the fridge and cracked it open. He gulped half the bottle just to bank some away and then slowly leaned back against the storage shelves. Some hunts infused him with energy for days but others, like this last, just left him shaky as hell. For a little while he stood and just breathed into the silence, drinking his beer. 

The silence stirred him back to reality. These days the bunker tended to be a hive of activity to the point where he sometimes longed to hide in his room like a teenager. On itchy days like those he’d drive Baby down some back road and sleep under the stars. Something about cricket song, the open sky, and the creaking of old leather seats felt like a lullaby. 

Cas, though. Cas thrived on it. He’d never admit it, but Cas had always been happiest leading an army. 

_Cas._

Dean pushed himself up from his slump and headed into the maze of bunker hallways. Down one echoing corridor he heard voices, one gravelly voice droning over a collection of younger, higher tones. He peeked in the doorway at the assemblage of mostly young adults perched on tables and against counters in the lab. Cas stood in the middle of them, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows and his arms covered in green goo, a pulsating pod the size of a prize pig sitting on the counter. 

“The incubation stage is the most important,” he said, jamming a fist into the pod. The pod flinched and somebody squealed. The room rippled with giggles. To the untrained eye, Cas continued to rummage in the transformation pod serious as the grave. But Dean saw the glint in his eye, the tiny upturned corner of his mouth, that told him Cas enjoyed the performance. Dean leaned against the doorjamb, crossed his arms, and grinned. 

Cas looked up then with that sixth sense he always had, caught Dean’s eye, and really smiled. Heads swiveled and the levity in the room immediately dialed down to zero. A Winchester always did that to the trainees. All eyes on him, there was nothing for it but to jump into the lesson. “Cas is right. Add a little bit of monster to these suckers in the early stage and harvest a monster cure for at least a few years. Maybe more.” They’d gotten the pods from a Brazilian chapter almost five years ago now. After so long, the scales finally seemed to be tipping towards saving people. All people.

In the back one of the newer recruits slumped, rolling her eyes. Dean recognized the type. The kid was a newer hunter with the fires of rage or revenge still burning her veins black. Most of these young people started at the bunker like that. They looked at Cas like some kind of feeble Dumbledore, a quiet nerd too long out of the field. They looked at Cas like that until he started them on combat training. Nobody ever forgot the first time Cas took them down. In one of his patterned wool sweaters he’d flip you before you even knew what hit, a knife appearing out of nowhere and pressed to your throat. 

Dean stayed for the duration of the class, only shifting to stand inside the room to let students filter past. 

Cas wiped his arms vigorously with a towel, the newly impregnated anti-werewolf transformation pod sitting quiescent on the counter. “A good hunt?” he asked. 

“Not really.”

Cas paused. “Is everything okay? Is Claire-”

“She’s fine. Back home with the boy.”

Cas scowled.

“Bad kill, though,” Dean said. “She had to drag my ass out of the fire. I thought that was it.”

Cas said nothing and stared at Dean, waiting for him to continue. Close calls in the life of a hunter were nothing new. There was more to say and Cas, bless him, always knew when to wait for Dean to speak his mind. 

“It turned out to be a djinn. New tricks. I’ll give her that.”

“Damn it, Dean.” Cas stepped around the counters and gripped Dean’s shoulder in commiseration. They stood in silence for a while before he dropped his hand and said, “You always do get so tangled up in what-could-have-beens. I’m glad Claire was there to pull you out.”

“Cas, it was so real.”

“It always is. No regrets, my friend.”

“No,” agreed Dean softly. “No regrets.”

Cas began tidying up the lab, transferring the pod to join others beneath a burgeoning field of grow lights. 

“Cas. There was one.”

“One what?” Cas rolled his sleeves back down and ran his hands through his hair, combing it back to suburban husband conformity. 

“One change. This time there was just one.” In past botched encounters with djinns it had always been some big life difference. Maybe somebody he’d lost was alive or Sammy lived back in the bunker instead of in some English manor an interminable airplane flight away. But this time Dean had been living in the bunker, hunting occasionally with hunters in training constantly underfoot. Everything had been indistinguishable from reality except for one thing. He let out a frustrated exhale. “Can you still read me?”

Cas winced and immediately Dean felt like an ass. With every year spent on earth, Cas became a little more human and a little less super powered. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. I should-” Dean took a deep breath. “Cas.”

“I can.” said Cas. “Still sense what you’re feeling.” He chuckled. “Other people, not so much. But I’m learning to cope.” He stared at Dean and as he did so, his eyes widened.

“The change was us,” Dean said at the same time Cas said in a tone of wonder, “the change was me?” 

Dean jammed his hands into his pockets, heart thudding. This was worse than hunting or being hunted. He felt sick. What an idiot to have said anything at all. If he could gank that djinn again, he would just to make a point. “Yeah. Well,” he said and forced out a laugh. “Weird couple of days. Listen, I’m gonna go on a drive. Clear my head.” And be gone for days, weeks, however long it took to run from the fallout of this confession. “Sorry.”

“Dean.”

Dean swiveled out the door. 

“Dean!” In the hallway Cas caught his arm and spun him around. He looked at him and said very slowly, the way he explained a new theory to a student, “I’m not sorry.”

They stood there with those words hanging above them for moments, for an eternity, for the length of a djinn’s dream. Cas reached out his hand and cupped it around Dean’s cheek. Dean closed his eyes and leaned into that familiar palm. 

“Dean,” said Cas. “It’s okay.” He smiled that slow wide smile that appeared so often these days. “I feel it too.” He leaned in and just before their lips met he whispered, “no regrets.”


End file.
